


What If I Can't Forget You?

by thegreatgasly (londonbird)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, POV First Person, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londonbird/pseuds/thegreatgasly
Summary: Semi-AU where Pierre is a content creator on Youtube/Twitch and Charles is real-verse Charles. Two worlds collide when they fall in love.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScaredyRacer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaredyRacer/gifts).



> Hello fellow Pierre/Charles enthusiasts! I'm back with a story that's a bit different from my previous works, but I hope you will still enjoy it. This could potentially be a long fic, I have some of it prewritten already so I am planning weekly updates for now. Stay tuned and let me know what you think, it would be much appreciated <3

I don't even have to open my eyes to know that I'm alone in the bed. It was clear I would wake up like this, yet for some reason, I was hoping, _wishing_ , he had changed his mind and would miraculously still be here. Of course that isn’t the case. Sighing, I turn over, shifting until my head is resting on his pillow. His scent is still on there, faint but distinct, and as I breathe it in I pull the duvet around myself tighter, pretending it's his arms holding me instead. My eyes are still closed, as if I could make the night with him last longer like that. I know I can't, but it makes it easier to pretend he's still here.

***

I doze off again but I can't get past that odd stage between being half awake and half asleep; I see weird things happen in front of my eyes, and I feel like I'm aware it's just dreams yet I can't break out of them. It's unsettling and when I finally regain full consciousness, I decide it's time to get up. There’s no point in staying in bed if sleep is not available as an escape right now, no matter how disappointing that is, I’m just gonna get more restless.

Sitting up, I finally glance over at his side of the bed. I can remember the exact way he was lying there before we fell asleep: flat on his back, dark hair against the white pillowcase, with the most peaceful and satisfied expression on his face. I was curled up to him on my side and tried to watch him for as long as possible; creepy, I know, but I also knew this might be my first and only chance to ever see him like that, completely relaxed and with his guard down. I passed out way too soon, anyway. No matter how hard I tried to force myself to stay awake, being that close to him just felt way too comfortable and safe not to let go and give in to sleep.

The memory of feeling protected and warm in his arms makes me shiver and I realize that I'm freezing, sitting there with nothing but the crumpled sheets covering me from below the waist. I look to my right one last time, as if to make sure his spot is really empty, then I stand up. My hand grabs the remote from the nightstand and I turn on the TV, thinking it will be nice to drown out the silence with some background noise, and I flip through the stations until I land on some random music channel. I don’t know the song that is playing so I toss the remote onto the bed and make my way to the bathroom.

It’s not like I want to take a shower, I really don't want to wash last night away. But on the other hand, it wouldn’t change anything anyway. He won't come back if I stay dirty for a week so I might as well move on and make myself look presentable.

Unfortunately, it isn't that easy. The showering part, yes, of course. I just turn on the water and step underneath the stream as soon as it is warm enough; my intentions of moving on, though, fly out the window as soon as the first drops connect with my skin. With last night still fresh in my memory, it feels like his fingertips touching me all over again and I close my eyes, not even trying to fight the images forming in my mind.

Everything happens automatically; I lean back against the wall, the contact with the cool tiles making me shudder for a brief moment before I feel the heat creeping back into my body inch by inch. My hand wraps around my half-hard dick, starting to move slowly as my imagination goes crazy. Needless to say, I'm picturing him doing this to me, with his hands, perfect hands with those long fingers that seem to know exactly where and how I want, need to be touched.

His face appears in front of my eyes and I instantly feel more heat rushing towards my crotch. Remembering the way he looked at me, his gaze foggy with lust and desire, as if I was the only thing he had ever wanted... If only. My hand speeds up, trying to recreate his movements from last night while I visualize how he touched me; I never wanted it to end, his hands running up and down my sides, caressing my hip bones, lightly scratching at the insides of my thighs. They seemed to be all over me, everywhere at once, and I could not get enough of the feeling.

A moan escapes from my mouth and I bite down on my lower lip, just like he had done yesterday. It was driving me crazy how he did all these little things that turned me on so much and fuck, I never knew I had such a vivid imagination 'cause it's almost like I can feel his breath on my skin now. I know it’s just the hot steam from the shower but I keep pretending that he is kissing all over my neck again, sucking at all the right spots – I briefly wonder if he left a mark, which would be a hot but painful souvenir in more than one way. I’ll definitely have to check on that later. The thought only arouses me more, if that is even possible, and I twist my wrist, knowing I'm getting closer to release.

I think of the things he moaned into my ear, dirty words that sounded so pretty tumbling from his lips; how he said my name, in a way only he could because of his accent, and in that moment it was the sexiest thing I had ever heard, apart from all these little sounds he was making that I seem to recall perfectly. And that is enough to drive me over the edge, my hips buck and I can't help but to groan his name as I come all over my hand. _Charles._

***

Half an hour later and I'm fighting with my hair in front of the mirror. No matter what I try, I just can’t seem to drape it like I want it, adding to my building frustration. The euphoric feeling went quickly, namely when I realized the water in the shower had turned cold, and it was instantly replaced by emptiness. The TV still running in the background hasn’t changed that, in fact, I have no idea what to do about it.

“This is a one-off thing, Pierre”, he had said. I did find it weird how he felt the need to point that out because that's what I thought it was, but I didn't think much of it at the time, brushing it off because I wanted to be with him so badly, I did not need rational thoughts standing in the way of that. It all made sense now, though. He said it because he knew. He knew all along that I was in love with him, and he knew before I even knew it _myself_. Or, well, before I was willing to _admit_ it to myself, I guess.

Because up until this morning, when I woke up all sentimental with those weird thoughts about him in my head, I was under the impression that the only thing I felt for him beyond friendship was sexual attraction. But I was wrong and now the time had come where I could no longer deny it. Well, fuck. It makes me both angry and sad. How could I let myself get into this mess? Why did I have to fall for it, for him?

It was obviously just a one time thing for him, I don’t even know if or when I will get to see him again, and doesn’t he have a girlfriend, anyway? Absolutely nothing will ever come out of this. Not a single chance. Great. There is only one solution: I have to get over him as soon as possible. With a sigh, I give up on my hair. I’ll just wear a hat instead. I go over to the bed and sit down on the edge of the bed to look at the TV again. There’s some awfully loud rock song playing that I’ve never heard before, but just before I switch it off I manage to catch some of the lyrics.

♬ _What if I can't forget you?_ ♬

How ironic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre is suffering.

It is about two weeks later, and not much has changed since that dreadful “morning after”, except that I'm in a different city. That night had been the night after the last race before the F1 summer break, so the next day, I had decided to fly back home to L.A. I could have stayed in Europe for a bit longer, going to France to visit my family for example, who I had not seen since I arrived 6 weeks ago. But I knew that if I went to see them, they would figure out rather quickly that something was up - especially my mom - and not leave me alone until I told them. That was not an option for me. I wanted to deal with this by myself. So when my mom asked if I was coming to Rouen, I made up some excuse that she probably saw right through but luckily didn't question, and went back to L.A., where I have spent about 95 % of the time in my apartment.

At first, I was really happy to be back home and no longer on the road. I had tried to make the most of my trip to Europe which had meant lots of content production: of course I attended the races where I vlogged every weekend and also recorded various videos with fans, journalists, celebrities and drivers. But my schedule in between races was packed as well, I went sight-seeing and exploring at each of the destinations on the calendar for my travel video series and attended some other sports events like Wimbledon and Tour de France. Some of the material I shot had to be cut and edited to be uploaded almost instantly, so it was pretty much a constant cycle of filming, editing and uploading. In between that, I somehow managed to visit friends in various countries and spent some time at my parents’, the only place outside of L.A. where I have a streaming set-up so I did some streams, too. I love my job, how it allows me to travel and meet so many interesting people, but it can also be exhausting to wake up in a new place every other day and socialize and just put on my happy face all the time, all while the camera is recording. Those trips over the pond leave very little time to myself and to unwind, so I always enjoy it when I can have some downtime afterwards.

So for once I allowed myself to laze around, sleeping in and spending hours on Netflix, gaming only off-stream and even ordering food so I didn't need to go outside. I had some videos pre-produced to upload them on my regular upload days without much work and I checked mails in the evenings, which was doable. There was no set schedule, no real to-do list, but I couldn't enjoy it for long; after a few days, emptiness settled in. I missed the routine of being on the road, constantly having people around me, needing to be somewhere. Having a purpose. I missed being creative and coming up with new ideas, the excitement when inspiration hits and I know I’m going to create something that people are really going to enjoy watching. I felt useless and like I was wasting time, but at the same time, my mind was blank somehow and I could not come up with anything.

Of course I tried to sit down and get my brain to work several times. I also tried to ask friends for help and brainstormed with some other creators for collabs. However, absolutely nothing came out of it. I somehow managed to find something about every suggestion that I did not like, so I gave up after a while and settled for editing some pre-recorded material. It's at least something to do, and if there is one thing you cannot force, it's inspiration and creativity. You just have to feel it. It’s the same with streaming, when your mind isn’t in the right place and you aren’t 100 % present, your viewers will know and it will take away from the fun for everyone. So I didn’t stream either, just put together old material and uploaded it, sprinkled with the occasional generic Instagram post to keep up my activity stats.

In summary, I really don't feel too well to say the least, but it wouldn't even be that bad – I've been through this before after coming out of a really busy phase or even after a 24 hour stream, you just forget how to lead a “normal” life and need to get used to it again – if it wasn't for that one feeling that I can't shake off, the feeling of missing a certain person, missing _him_. It hasn't ceased since that particular morning, and even though I manage to forget about it sometimes, it always comes back sooner or later.

I haven't heard from Charles since that night and to be honest, I'm not sure if it makes the whole thing better or worse. Part of me is actually happy about the lack of contact because I have no idea how I would react, what I would say to him. But then there's another part that thinks him “ignoring” me means he doesn't care about me and what happened between us at all and that's just downright depressing. Deep down I refuse to believe that, though. He's not like that, even though a lot of people would probably expect it.

When I first met him in the paddock, I had heard a lot of things about him, good stuff, bad stuff, crazy stuff. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on him, even if they didn't actually know him in person, and I felt a little intimidated, also considering his pretty much flawless racing record and how he made it to Ferrari after just one year in F1, being hailed the next big thing. I tried not to listen to what people told me but I still had some image what he would be like in my head, and of course he turned out to be completely different – in the most positive way – when we were introduced to each other. I felt embarrassed afterwards for ever having thought about him like that.

He was very polite and nice, but in a rather reserved, almost shy way, which I hadn't expected at all. I ended up being the more talkative one in the conversation and I was just happy he wasn't an asshole like some people had tried to make me believe, but rather a pretty normal guy. And there was something intriguing about him, I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but somehow I just thought he was a pretty fascinating person and that I wanted to get to know him.

And I did, somehow our paths crossed quite often, whether we were staying at the same hotel at a race and ran into each other at breakfast, met in the paddock or at the after race parties. We danced together, played football together or just chatted. It was always fun. He was just as interesting to talk to as I thought he would be. We had conversations about gaming, fashion, sports, all kinds of random shit and sometimes even more serious topics, it was great. I found that I really love talking to him because he's not one of those people who constantly feel the need to dominate conversations; he actually lets me talk, too, and then he's a good listener, like he actually cares about what I have to say, and like he gets what I mean. It makes me feel so comfortable and as if we have some kind of connection. That must be one of the things that made me fall for him before we even slept together.

So we kind of became friends, I don't know, it was – is – a bit of a weird relationship. It's not like we are that close, even though we are on the same wavelength and stuff, but for example we never hang out outside of the race track. We don’t even speak, we’ve exchanged numbers but never text or interacted otherwise. Which makes me feel like there is some sort of line we just haven't crossed yet, friendship-wise. And who knows if we ever will now, considering the most recent events.


End file.
